More True Advertising Horror Stories
My career started working at a chaotic start-up ad agency. Yeah, I saw some shit. You wanna read some shit?
PREVIOUSLY: Funny, Sad, Horrifying Scenes from 30 years on the Frontlines of Advertising Hell.
I was the first copywriter hired at the first agency I worked at out of ad school—a start-up agency with one small client. I was hired by a slick-talking mob-connected drug-addicted SVA teacher/art director.
Probably not the smartest career move.
I don’t recommend working for a mob-connected drug-addicted (he smoked joints laced with cocaine and…other substances) owner. He was often followed around at the agency by a mob hitman/boxer; a very polite fellow with hair plugs, but, yeah. He was Chief Security Officer, I guess. The owner had an intoxicating personality and voice that talked clients into parting with money they didn’t want to part with, and suppliers into waiting for money they’d never receive. (“Two weeks” was his favorite response, and became an inside joke phrase in the creative department.)
After doing fun spec ads at SVA for the ASPCA, Lego, Jamaica and others, what was my first real-world assignment? Urine analysis instruments:
Within two years, we overgrew to over 40 employees, all paid under the table. Compared to our billings, this was beyond ridiculous. We hired many completely unqualified people. Why? Good question. Below is a visual representation of our agency after three years:
You think you work long hours? Hold my mug of black sludge coffee. I worked scores of all-nighters because we pitched anybody who let us in the doors. And smooth-talking owner got us in many doors. The creative department often worked seven-day 90-100 hour weeks. During one six-month period I had zero (0) days off. But I never did cocaine or speed. Not once. Should have.
At the 3.5 year mark, we all suddenly stopped getting paid. Ends up, the owner was also keeping all the media money. Ha. Most left the agency. Not me. I went through a divorce and kept working for six months trying to “keep the dream alive”. This got me $50,000 in debt and “all” my money, about $200, seized by the IRS. I was 31.
What went on inside such an insane place? It made Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce look like a monastery. Here’s a few anecdotes.
One account exec was openly “dating” three co-workers at the same time. All three men were aware of the situation, as was the rest of the agency. One man thought it humorous, the other two, not so much. Hey, it was their choice. The married owner also fucked at least three of his employees. I don’t know the real total, I was too busy not sleeping.
Our New Business phone guy, uneducated with a limited vocabulary, got us a lot of appointments mostly because his inelegant pitch spiel was the exact opposite of the slick Ivy buzzwordy bullshit brand marketers heard day-in and day-out. Celebrating a new business win, He died of a cocaine overdose, alone, in the married owner’s pied-à-terre fuckpad. Our production manager found him.
The hair-plugged hitman would sometimes tell us about the (bad!) people he “whacked” and how he whacked them. Then he’d ask us (me) about the latest campaign I was working on. He was genuinely interested. Yes, being a loyal employee felt extra important there. I sincerely hope he’s not in prison now.
Foamcore. This was pre-internet, pre-software, so every time we presented campaigns we presented illustrated comps on foamcore. Print. TV. (All of our art directors could and had to draw, some better than others.) We presented new/and or current business pitches 2-3 times a week. We always presented at least three campaigns, usually five-six campaigns, sometimes 10+. “Cover the conference room walls”, the owner said. That we did. With foamcore comps. In fours years or so, how many campaigns did we sell? Not many. How much foamcore did we waste? How much is (probably still) sitting in Metro-area landfills? SHIT-TONS.
I got many more true advertising horror stories. Please buy a Subscription and I’ll post more—LINK.
FOLLOW-UP: The owner died about 15 years ago, drug-related death.
May he rest in peace.
You were young and talented. I'm curious, why did you think this place was your only option?